


Daily Eucharist

by lisachan



Category: The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Angst, Blasphemy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 12:21:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30004815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisachan/pseuds/lisachan
Summary: Gabriel tries to flee from Tommy, from the effect he has on him, from the consequences of their attraction.He doesn't run very far.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 2
Collections: COWT - Clash Of the Writing Titans/Chronicles Of Words and Trials





	Daily Eucharist

**Author's Note:**

> My babies. They come back to me, sometimes.
> 
> Pardon the blasphemy, they tend to be intense in their love-making.

These days, the only thing Gabriel can do to really turn his brain off is training. Sometimes with other kids, sometimes alone, sometimes with Sebastian, it really doesn’t matter who he ends up sparring against or what he ends up doing to burn himself some peace of mind through the chaos reigning in his head: he’s just got to do it, he’s got to hide in one of the countless training rooms of the Institute, or even in his bedroom if he wants some privacy and the rooms are all occupied with clumsy six years old in training, and train himself into numbness.

By dinnertime, he’s usually so worn out he can scarcely eat, and today’s no different than any other day. He’s been running from his personal curse all day, he’s been locked inside this gym sweating and punching walls and rotating sparring partners for hours, and now he’s so tired he can do nothing but breathe heavily, slightly bent forward, his hands on his knees, while he looks at his sweatdrops as they rain down from his forehead into the mat underneath him.

That’s how Sebastian finds him.

“Are you _trying_ to put us all to shame?” he asks from the threshold of the gym, leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe, “You’re seventeen and your abs look better than mine.”

Gabe chuckles breathlessly, trying to pull himself up straight. “Not true. But point made.”

“By the Angel, you can’t even talk properly,” Sebastian rolls his eyes and walks into the gym, getting closer to him. Gabe suspects to check on him and see if he’s exhausted himself near to death yet. “Seriously, what are you trying to do? Kill yourself? Because there are better ways.”

“Don’t worry,” Gabe tries to stop heaving, to try and make Sebastian believe he’s not as tired as he really is, “I’m not suicidal.” On the contrary, he’s trying to save himself, _and Tommy_. The last thing he wants is for either of them to die.

“Then what is it?” Sebastian frowns, insisting, “Just tell me,” and then he hesitates a moment, and his gaze grows a little softer, which is a rare sight, but with them kids not that rare after all. “You know you can tell me, don’t you?”

Gabe swallows, trying to hold Sebastian’s gaze and failing halfway through. He knows he must’ve picked on something. He knows Tommy has not been exactly silent as a tomb with his uncle. But he doesn’t know precisely how much does he know, and with the specific problem Tommy and him have, _how much_ of it people actually know really is everything.

“I know,” he nods, “But there’s nothing to say, really. I’ve just got a lot of energy to burn. I’m seventeen, remember?”

“Yes, and I’ve been seventeen myself, and I know a thing or two about burning energy and a lot of other shit that feels so much better when it’s burning,” Sebastian replies, “And I also know a lot about being unable to let yourself breathe, and Gabe, you’re not letting yourself breathe. And you know what happens when you don’t breathe.”

“I don’t risk picking up on the sweat stink in the changing rooms?”

“You fucking _die_ , you stupid infant child,” Sebastian groans.

“You know, technically,” Gabe smirks, speaking more confidently now that he can actually breathe like a human being instead of heaving like a running dog, “You don’t need to add the word _child_ when you already used the word _infant_. It’s redundant at best, or you give the impression of not knowing what’s an infant and what’s a child at worst.”

“I might not know what’s an infant and what’s a child but I damn well know how to _kill_ one, so you better watch your language with me,” Sebastian growls. 

Gabe snickers, but he recognizes he’s been tugging at the rope a little too hard, and he backs off. After all, he knows Sebastian’s trying to help him, and he’s being honest with him. And how is Gabe answering him? With dishonesty and deception, mocking him by avoiding his questions while he pretends he isn’t really. It’s unnecessary.

“I’m sorry,” he says, with what he hopes will come across as a truly apologizing smile.

“Whatever,” Sebastian snorts, giving up. He can recognize an impenetrable wall when he sees one. “Just come to dinner. Your idiot fathers refuse to start eating if you’re not sitting with us, and I’m hungry.”

Gabe follows him, but he’s not hungry himself. He’s too tired, he thinks, to be hungry, and that’s good, that’s great, actually, because it means he’s probably going to be too tired to do anything else that is not sleeping. It’s exactly what he wanted, and as he plays with his food, distractedly listening to the chit-chatting going on around the table during dinner, he’s already smiling, anticipating a hopefully uneventful, sleepy night.

When dinner’s over he stands up and says goodnight. His parents look at him sadly, Magnus tells him he was hoping they could spend some time together, perhaps watching a movie or something, but Gabe declines with a smile. He’s being nicer and more smiley than he usually is, he hopes that doesn’t come across as suspicious. He doesn’t want questions. “I’m beat,” he says, stretching his neck right and left for show, “Thanks, though.”

“Maybe we can spend some time together tomorrow night?” Alec proposes, hope in his eyes. Gabe already knows they won’t, but he nods and smiles.

“Sure.” Then he turns around and leaves.

He finds remarkable that, all through that, Tommy scarcely ever speaks to him. He’s busy telling his dad and uncle about his day, the things he’s learned, the runes he’s drawn, the fights he’s won. Tommy’s much better than he is at keeping what’s happening between them in a separate box from the rest of his life, or at least he’s been so up to now. Gabe, instead, is thrown, every moment, by the intensity of what he’s feeling. By the confusion it’s causing in his mind. He can’t go an hour without thinking about Tommy, and it’s scary, because he knows he shouldn’t, and he knows he can’t. This is dangerous, it’s a thing that’s been born dangerous and that he should have stopped in the cradle. He didn’t, though, because he couldn’t – he didn’t _want to_ – and now he’s paying the price for it. Sebastian thinks he’s trying to kill himself, but really, killing himself would defeat the purpose. He doesn’t want death, he wants punishment.

He walks up to his bedroom, and he’s glad not to find Tommy already waiting for him there. It happened a few times and it always made things harder. Somehow it gets more complicated to push Tommy out, when he’s already let himself in.

He undresses, discarding all of his clothes and remaining in nothing but his underwear. Then he thinks twice about it, and he fetches a pair of soft cotton pants and a random white t-shirt, and the only reason why he does that is because he wants to put a barrier between himself and Tommy, should he choose to walk into his room later tonight. He’s aware of how ridiculous that is, of course, and he’s also aware of the fact that, if Tommy really walked into the room, and onto his bed, and onto him, clothes or no clothes he’d have to fight a violent battle to get him off himself, but he’d feel even more underprotected if he didn’t wear a thing. And so, in the end, he gets into the bed wearing clothes that he wouldn’t usually wear at all. A soft armor of sorts.

As he lies down, staring at the ceiling and begging for sleep to come soon, hoping to be already asleep by the time Tommy chooses to maybe show up, he thinks about change and what causes it. People can transform so radically – he himself is so different, these days, than he used to be. And they can change for love, yes, that’s true, but the most dramatic changes they make against it.

He is so in love with Tommy. He sees nothing but him, despite how wrong it is, and how dangerous. But he’s going through such a metamorphosis to keep him out and away. He is changing more now, to push him off, than he ever changed to allow him in.

(A voice in the back of his head tells him it’s because he didn’t really need to change a thing to allow Tommy in, as though he had been born just the right shape and size to contain him.)

He turns on his side, he closes his eyes. He used to dislike sleeping, he felt it as a waste of time. Now he begs for sleep all day, he craves it, he grinds himself down for hours on end just to make sure it’s going to come the moment he places his head on the pillow. And sleep mercifully comes, plunging him in the quiet, numb darkness of his dreams.

In the dream, he’s still training – he can’t let himself breathe, it’s just like Sebastian told him – but he’s not alone. Tommy’s training with him. They’re not sparring, unexpectedly, they’re practicing tai chi. They’re moving slowly, but Gabe suspects the dream is slowing their movements down even more, to allow Gabe to look at Tommy better. The perfect shape of his body, how flawlessly he’s performing the _taolu_ , the small drops of sweat that run down his neck and shoulder, and then his back, as he moves. Gabe swallows. He can almost taste him on his tongue.

He opens his eyes suddenly, his body breaking the sleeping spell on its own. Tommy’s in the room – he can _sense_ him, he can feel him. His body’s awake and alert, and that always happens when Tommy gets too close.

Slowly, Gabe sits up and turns to look at the darkness of the room. He expects to see Tommy’s shadow, and he’s disappointed when he sees nothing instead. He lies back down, exhaling deeply. It’s ridiculous, he scolds himself, he shouldn’t feel disappointed if he doesn’t see Tommy lurking in the shadows in his bedroom when he wakes up in the middle of the night. It’s a good thing he’s not here, Gabe should be thankful.

(It’s just— he isn’t.)

Sighing, he closes his eyes again. _Sleep_ , he tells himself. It’s easier to sleep.

But the moment he closes his eyes he feels the air buzzing around him, and he jumps sitting up again, _certain_ that this time Tommy’s going to be there. Panting softly, he turns his head around, once, twice, scanning the darkness. He can feel him, he knows he’s there, he must see him, he _must_. But the darkness remains motionless, and Tommy doesn’t emerge from it.

He feels his insides twist in a desperate bout of desire. This is madness, why is his body tricking him like that? “By the Angel…” he whispers under his breath, “Leave me be.”

And then a voice echoes in his head. _I can’t. I can’t stop thinking about you._

The feeling is pleasant and terrifying, and Gabe clings to the sheets, holding his breath for a moment. Now he’s sure Tommy isn’t here, and at the same time he’s also sure that he feels him as though he was, and most importantly, Tommy’s aware of that. Locked up in his room, or roaming through the Institute, sharing cake with his dad or taking a walk outside, Tommy’s aware of this link that’s emerged between them, he’s actively searching for it – he’s directing it. 

He exhales, closing his eyes. He tries to visualize him, merely because he misses seeing him. _You have to_ , he thinks, knowing Tommy will listen. _We can’t keep doing this. I’m trying to stop us._

 _From being happy?_ Tommy’s voice says.

 _From being stripped of our marks, exiled, imprisoned, perhaps even killed,_ Gabe answers with a frustrated sigh. He’s tired of having to reiterate this. He’s tired of having to be the one to always remind Tommy what’s at stake here, and why they should take a step back and stop playing with fire. 

Truth is, Tommy doesn’t give a shit what might happen to them if they got discovered. He doesn’t care that he’d lose his identity, that he would have to cut ties with his family, that he’d be left to fend for himself in a world he doesn’t know and barely understands. He has no idea what living as a mundane would imply, while Gabe, he knows. He comes from that world, he knows what it means to be part of it. Tommy doesn’t, the only world he knows is a world in which he’s all-powerful, a world where everybody righteously worships him. And so he doesn’t care what they’re risking, he’s prepared to recklessly put it all on the line just to keep being with him.

And Gabe _loves_ that. He doesn’t want to, he knows he shouldn’t, but he _adores_ it. The mere fact that Tommy’s ready to lose everything he has, including his name, just to be with him, gives him such a powerful thrill sometimes he can’t even sleep thinking about it. When he reminds Tommy that they shouldn’t act on their desires, that they should forget what they want altogether, even, it’s reason speaking. But whenever Tommy comes searching for him, in whatever form, his body speaks a whole different language.

 _Tell me something,_ Tommy’s voice in his mind says, while Gabe feels as though Tommy’s fingers were moving softly and slowly up his spine, walking it like stairs, _Does saying that make you stop wanting me?_

Gabe lets out a strained sigh, curling his fingers around the sheets. _Nothing could ever make me stop wanting you,_ he admits. There’s no lying about that. Even if he could bring himself to say the words, his body would betray him, and Tommy would know. 

_It’s the same for me,_ Tommy’s voice says from the Angel knows where. _I could die, and I would still want you. You could be the one killing me, and I would still want you._

The rush running through Gabe’s veins, that lethal mix of excitement and unfiltered devotion that Tommy alone can bring out of him, blinds him for a moment. Gabe closes his eyes and sees him, even though he knows he’s not in the room he can still see him. Standing on the threshold, wearing a t-shirt and short pajama pants, nervously torturing his fingers. His hair an auburn messy cloud around his head. His skin pale, almost transparent in the night, dotted with light sparse freckles. Those dangerous golden eyes, intense and deep like a wolf’s. 

He surrenders, like he always does. He exhales and lets go and he feel better right away. “Come to me,” he says out loud.

“I’m already here,” Tommy answers.

Gabe opens his eyes and sees him, already a couple steps into the room. He flies off the bed, standing on his feet, and as he does that Tommy slams the door closed with a distracted kick. Then they run to one another, Gabe with his arms already open, ready to welcome him, Tommy ready to jump. He climbs on him like a squirrel up a tree, always faithful to his nickname since he was a child. Gabe closes his arms around his waist and lets his hands land on his ass, squeezing it. He keeps him up while Tommy leans in on him and captures his lips in a fiery, demanding kiss that leaves no time for breathing. 

“I want you,” Tommy growls against his lips, moving swiftly against him, making Gabe feel his erection against his stomach despite the clothes they’re wearing. There’s a haste in his movements, that gives a different taste to his kisses, that makes the moment even more intense. He seems driven to the point of insanity in the way he grinds up and down against him, in the way he just can’t stop moving. He says _I want you_ , Gabe perceives _I chose you_ , and it feels like having been graced by the calling of a God, and what is Tommy, to him, if not that, he thinks as he places him down on his messed-up bed and descends upon him, what is he if not the God Gabe looks up to every day of his life? The God who keeps haunting him, a God the blessing of whom Gabe constantly tries to flee from, and yet it’s the same God he keeps running back to, over and over again.

This is not a love story, he thinks as he strips Tommy’s pajamas off him, pulling so hard at the fabric he hears the seams pop open, this is religion, this is fanatism. They’re not about to have sex, they’re in the midst of a sacred celebration. The sacred celebration of themselves.

“Fuck me,” Tommy heaves, writhing frantically, as though possessed, underneath him, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” he repeats again and again in a litany that’s nothing short of a gospel – their own, private, personal gospel of sin.

Gabe places himself between his legs, kissing him all over. He tastes sweat and salt off his skin, he licks every inch of his body he can possibly reach. He traces the outline of the _parabatai_ rune Tommy got marked on his heart with the tip of his tongue, he insists on it until he hears Tommy whimper, and only then he drives his cock through his opening, burying it within him, no forewarning, no preparation. This is a ritual that demands a little sacrifice, and pain is what they keep sacrificing to the altar of their love. No blood, no beating hearts. Only pain, the one thing they’re richest with. For their hearts could stop beating and their blood could stop flowing through their veins, but their pain for being forbidden to live their love out in the open, or to live it at all, for that matter, could never cease.

“Don’t stop,” Tommy pleads, his voice half-broken as he bounces on the bed and reaches back to cling to the header, his legs firmly wrapped around Gabe’s waist, so tight Gabe can scarcely move. Tommy begs him, even though he doesn’t _have to_ , because these are his prayers, that’s the way he worships, forcing his pride to step aside to show Gabe how much he needs him, and how much he likes this. His voice soars, it feels the sticky, hot, dense air of the room. Gabe inhales and tastes him on his tongue. He kisses him and he can smell his scent in his lungs.

It’s more than magic, it’s a miracle. They feed off their bodies to renew their bond. Their daily eucharist. 

Gabe doesn’t think. He forgets what could happen, ignores what they’re risking, refuses to acknowledge the fact that, even though he’s giving in now, he will keep trying to keep Tommy away from himself using all those weapons Tommy so detests. He will cold-shoulder him, he will ignore him, he will spend hours, days away from him, he will refuse to share any time and space with him, he will go hunt for other people, he will fuck them, kiss them, he will speak to them as though they were his boyfriends and girlfriends, he will make them feel special, important, and he will be loud about that, loud enough that Tommy won’t be able to avoid it, he will _have_ to see it. And he will hope that’s going to be enough to make him fall out of love with him. 

(And then he will come back. And Tommy will come for him, and he will be on the hunt, like he was tonight. He will insist and he will tease and he will present him with the unadulterated, tragic reality of their inability to let each other go, and he will win again, and they will be together again, and the cycle will begin again, until, Gabe knows that, they will be consumed by it.)

He ignores all of that, because all of that is meaningless now that he’s moving inside Tommy, now that he feels his tightness and his warmth envelope him, now that Tommy touches him and invokes his name, now that he moves like sea waves underneath him, taking and taking all there is that Gabe’s willing to give him – taking and taking all there is of Gabe. Because there’s nothing he owns he wouldn’t want to give him, down to the last drop of blood he possesses.

Tommy gasps and clings to him so hard his nails tear through the skin on his shoulders, leaving red marks on him. Gabe feels him tighten and tense, and then Tommy comes, letting out a broken moan as he squirts, his come landing in long, pearly streaks all over the flat plane of his stomach. The sight alone makes Gabe’s soul soar, and he groans as he leans in on him, closing his teeth around his neck, biting down at him hard, listening to him as he mewls in pleasure while he comes inside him, filling him up, drop after drop after drop.

When it’s done, and there’s silence, he gives himself a few seconds to bask in it. In the serenity that always accompanies their peculiar kind of holy communion. They share each other for a little while, breathing the same air off each other’s lips, burning in the same slowly extinguishing fire. Ashes of themselves, they mix together, hoping to let go a little bit more of themselves than they’re going to take away off the other.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he sighs then, his nose tracing the outline of Tommy’s jaw.

“You called for me,” Tommy notes plainly, his eyes still closed, tilting his head to give him better access to his neck, should Gabe choose to follow that line with his nose too. (He chooses so, obviously, if it is even a choice.)

“So…” Gabe opens his lips and kisses him underneath his chin, and then on his pulse point, sucking at his skin a little, savoring it, “You’ll do everything I tell you, just because I say so?”

“Yes,” he answers, with an ease that is as frightening as it is entrancing, “As long as you truly mean it.”

“Right,” Gabe can’t help a short bitter chuckle, “So when I tell you to leave and you don’t, and when I tell you to stop thinking about us and you don’t, it’s because I don’t truly mean it?”

Tommy opens his eyes and looks at him. He stares into his soul as him alone can. “Yes,” he declares, “Try and say otherwise, if you’ve got the guts.”

But he doesn’t, and he couldn’t. He can stomach a lot of shit, but lying so blatantly in Tommy’s face he could never do.

He slowly rolls off him, lying down on his back on the bed, crossing his arms behind his head as he stares to the ceiling. He fully expects Tommy to turn on his side and drape himself all over him, as he’s done countless times in the past, but the kid doesn’t. He stands up, instead, gathering his clothes and wearing them on his still come-stained skin. “Where are you going?” he asks, staring at him in surprise.

Tommy looks back at him and offers him a drained smile. “I can sense your disposition, and you’re not in a good one, tonight. If I stay, there’s gonna be talking. And if we talk, sooner or later you’re gonna start lecturing me. On the law, on our bond, on what we can and cannot do.”

And Gabe can sense his disposition too, and he knows Tommy doesn’t feel like listening to any of that, tonight.

“What if I promise to shut up?” he asks, “Will you stay then?”

Tommy chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t believe in false promises, Gabe. Not even yours.”

Gabe can feel he’s not angry, and that’s why he doesn’t insist on making him stay. He kind of appreciates the way Tommy’s learned how to deal with him in all kinds of situation. It makes him feel understood, and somehow weirdly protected, too.

“Alright,” he sighs, lying back on his side to at least watch him leave, “Goodnight.”

Tommy turns his back to him and walks off, waving his hand in the air. “The Mass has ended,” he jokes, “We may go in peace.”

Gabe allows himself a half-broken pained smile. And he can rest in pieces.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the fifth week of COWT #11 @ landedifandom.net  
> Prompt: M3, "the sacred bond of pleasure"


End file.
